


Scenes From The Wedding Album of Canton Everett Delaware III

by Raven (singlecrow)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:59:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlecrow/pseuds/Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Marriage is an esteemed institution, and the decision whether and whom to marry is among life's momentous acts of self-definition.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes From The Wedding Album of Canton Everett Delaware III

_Marriage... bestows enormous private and social advantages on those who choose to marry. Civil marriage is at once a deeply personal commitment to another human being and a highly public celebration of the ideals of mutuality, companionship, intimacy, fidelity, and family.... Because it fulfils yearnings for security, safe haven, and connection that express our common humanity, civil marriage is an esteemed institution, and the decision whether and whom to marry is among life's momentous acts of self-definition._

Per Marshall J, _Goodridge v Department of Health_ , 798 N.E.2d 941 (Mass. 2003)

*

Exterior, day. Cold, wet, grey, Massachusetts. A long, long line, with coffee vendors, journalists, and men in formalwear at eight in the morning. A voice, querulous and loving.

"And why do you want your whole stupid fucking name on it, anyway. Canton Everett Delaware the Third, like, twenty years from now I'm going to check my wedding album to check I didn't marry your fucking father."

"I don't want an album at all!" An elderly man, determined. "I want to stand here and drink my coffee in peace and not have you popping up at me with that stupid camera."

"Well, fine. Twenty years from now you can go and look up your own wedding on Facebook, see if I fucking care."

A pause, while he sips the coffee and his partner rummages for pastries and they shift along absent-mindedly in the way of lines everywhere.

"Gentlemen" – a new voice, a slightly oily, practised voice – "is there anything you'd like to say at this historic moment?"

"Yes," says Canton, after a moment. "My partner of forty years is about to marry me with cheese Danish crumbs on his collar, let me get those, you _idiot_."

The journalist takes a picture while he fixes it. _Groom-to-be nervously adjusts tie_ , he guesses the caption will be. God damn the _New York Times_.

"Facebook of course won't exist by then" – he's on a roll – "and all you'll have are the memories that survive your advancing senility."

Canton says, "I can consult the paper of record. Romance is not dead."

*

A courtroom trying for expectant hush, and landing on expectant excitement. "Three-day waiting period my ass," Henry whispers.

"Shut up."

"Hear ye, hear ye" – court in session – "and God save the Commonwealth of Massachusetts."

Canton finds it inexplicably hilarious. The judge has white hair and a stern expression. He looks down at the papers and nods. "All set."

And then they're crossing the street through the sleet to the justice of the peace and this is happening, it's really happening. "I've never done this before," mutters the guy, and fixes his tie and checks his lines, and then they're saying their bit, and it's kind of a blur. Canton signs his name in full, though. Some things last; some things matter.

They stop on the steps of City Hall and look out over the lines, the crowds. People are cheering, traffic's stopping. A guy with blond hair and black-rimmed glasses jumps out of the crowd and says, "Hey, I can get you both..."

"Thanks," Henry tells him, handing off the camera, and they pose, briefly, while the sun comes out obligingly for just a few moments. The clean wind whips away some of the bad times and when Canton looks up the guy's gone.

 

*

Exterior, day. Later that same day, climbing down from that same high.

"Oh, my God."

"What?" Canton says, "what, what" – and he rolls out of the passenger seat of the car – "did we get a ticket or what?"

"No." They got a sign, hand-painted, stuck to the back of the car. "Just married", in black text on bright TARDIS blue.

"Oh," Canton says, and sits heavily down on the bonnet. "Oh. Give me the camera."

He looks through the pictures. There's the rain, turning to sleet, the half-empty cup of coffee, his own nervous, old, smiling face, and there's the two of them coming out of City Hall, and there's the man behind them in the fez with the elastic grin and double thumbs-up.

"You've told me about that guy," Henry says, and it's not a question.

"Yeah," Canton says. He thinks about it. "Doctor!" he yells. "Doctor, where are you hiding?"

There's no answer. From nowhere, a sprinkle of silver, otherworldly confetti; then a distant sound of dematerialisation.

"Thanks," Canton says, to no one, and breathes in the cool morning air, covered in stars.


End file.
